


What's Your Fantasy

by pianoforeplay



Category: ReGenesis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:04:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoforeplay/pseuds/pianoforeplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are very few people at NorBAC David hasn't imagined having sex with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Your Fantasy

There are very few people at NorBAC David hasn't imagined having sex with. (Though, to be fair, there are very few people _alive_ David hasn't imagined having sex with.) In fact, off the top of his head, there is exactly one that he can be sure he's never imagined. Not even in passing. Not even while drunk.

His name is Martin, a palynologist with truly incredible eyebrows. In all honesty, David's not too sure if Martin has the ability (or, indeed, the equipment) to get an erection and he's none too eager to find out. Even Bob, whom David's pretty sure is the least judgmental person on the planet, is wary of Martin.

Everyone else, though? Everyone else is fair game. Even Wes. (Those fantasies largely involve David on the receiving end of one hell of a blowjob. Not, he must clarify, that he expects a guy with such a massive stick up his ass to have the oral dexterity required for such an act. But, hell, it's a fantasy; he's willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt.) Even -- and he'll not admit this to anyone _ever_ \-- even Bob. It's kind of a taboo sort of thing coupled with the virgin thing sprinkled with a nice bit of there being something very entirely _wrong_ about the whole thing.

When he thinks about sex with Bob, rare as he swears it is, he imagines being a sort of teacher. Kind of like he usually is with Bob anyway, but on a completely different level. He imagines Bob would stay nearly completely clothed for as long as possible and ask a lot of nervous questions. Too many questions, in fact, and David would be forced to think of something creative to make him shut the hell up that wouldn't make Bob run off screaming.

Usually, the fantasies of Bob are way more work than they're worth.

There are easier targets, of course. Like Mayko. There's a little bit of a 'wrong' aspect with her, too, but not nearly as bad as it is with Bob. David considers Mayko a kind of sister sometimes, but even so, she's still a _hot_ sister and it's not like they're _actually_ related by any means. And it's also not like he's never had sex with her before. It's been awhile, yeah, but long enough that there's still a mystery to it.

However, Mayko was safer before the bombing, before she lost half of one leg. Which isn't to say that David has any problem with that; there's a certain appeal in fucking someone with 1.5 legs. Like it's something he can add to his imaginary list of sexual accomplishments. Right under 'virgin male friend with neurological disorder' and before 'former wife of gay co-worker.' But, despite what most of the lab seems to think, he _does_ pay attention and he knows that Mayko hasn't been quite the same since The Big Kaboom and, strangely enough, he actually finds himself feeling guilty about thinking of her like that anymore. Maybe it's that sister thing.

Well. Sometimes anyway.

There's thankfully barely any guilt in thinking about Rachel. Something about ruffling the neat and tidy feathers of a somewhat conservative mother-of-two is incredibly appealing. And, Rachel's not a _prude_ so far as he can tell; David imagines she's one hell of a wildcat if you get her in the right situation and she definitely has a body to go with it. Fantasies of Rachel almost always take place somewhere in the lab: in his office or over an electron microscope or PCR machine or in the break area, making good use of the couch or the little table there or the door of the refrigerator. He once had an incredibly good one involving the stairs. They may or may not include slightly damaging thousands of dollars worth of equipment and also may or may not include him then stealing the security tapes.

He alternates between deciding to keep the tapes for himself and gift-wrapping them for Riddlemeyer.

And, then there's Jill of course. She may not _technically_ work for NorBAC anymore, but that doesn't stop David from imagining all the various cities they haven't yet had sex. Chicago and New York were just scraping the surface. Miami, San Francisco, some backward little town in Southern America. Maybe Denver for old time's sake. All the places he'd have dragged her to if she hadn't left. Maybe it's sad that he only ever seemed to get her to sleep with him whenever there was promised room service, but David figures there are worse circumstances, all things considered. These days, he'd offer much more just to get to _see_ her.

Thinking about Jill hurts in a way it never did before everything went to hell and he has to be in just the right mood for it. They usually leave him aching, wanting something completely impossible and intangible. Even with his dick still half hard and come splattered all over his stomach, there's a gaping emptiness he can't fill even with alcohol anymore.

So, he tries not to think about Jill.

The thing about NorBAC is it's a pretty big place and David's always had a libido to match. Always, at least, until recently.

If David actually had the interest or the damn _time_ to see a shrink, they'd probably tell him that after losing his mother and his father and Jill and now Joanna, that he has some kind of fear of forming attachments. And, while he can't exactly argue that completely, he would at least point out that he's still attached to his work and to his lab and to people like Bob and Mayko and Carlos. Even Wes is getting slightly less annoying these days. The point is, there's still something there, _some_ kind of attachment, even if he's not actively having sex with any of them. At the moment.

Of course, if David were to actually go to a shrink, it wouldn't be about that. Because it's not really that his libido has lessened any so much that it's gotten a good deal more… focused. Which, in and of itself, isn't too worrying; it's happened to him once or twice before and as recently as less than a year ago. Contrary to what anyone else believes, it does happen.

This is the first time, however, that it's happened with a.) a guy and b.) someone he hasn't even so much as _kissed_ yet.

What that says about the current state of his psyche, he frankly doesn't want to know.

Carlos has been with NorBAC since day one and, much like everyone else he hired in the beginning, David couldn't say he knew the guy very well beforehand. He was aware of the man's credentials, his work in Africa and Mexico both, his areas of expertise; hiring him wasn't any kind of difficulty. Dr. Serrano wasn't merely the best choice as a citizen of Mexico, but the best choice on the continent as far as David had been concerned.

And, it really hadn't hurt at all that the guy's so damn good-looking.

Not, of course, that David's ever revealed to anyone that he has _any_ opinion on what Carlos looks like. Which isn't to say that David's closeted. Not really. Fact is, David just likes sex. If held up at gunpoint (preferably a squirt gun, he's not a big fan of the real thing), he'd admit that he favors women, but he's had more than a few men in his time, too. Admittedly, those interactions also included the consumption of alcohol, but he's never really thought that part was _necessary_. A blowjob, after all, is a blowjob, regardless of who's giving it or how sloppy it is. And he's been on both sides before. Drunk and sober.

Sometimes he contemplates bringing it up with Carlos somehow. Just slip it into a casual conversation: _"You know, you're not the only one who's taken it up the ass a few times."_ Something like that, but with maybe a little more tact. Assuming David's actually capable of tact.

Except it's been nearly three years now and Carlos has never given David any indication that he's interested in _any_ kind of sex at all. For all Carlos talks of it, he could be completely celibate. But, David knows that Carlos is just a very private guy and just doesn't talk about shit like that. David can't help _hoping_ he's not celibate. For all the good it does him.

The thing is, this whole thing with Carlos only started a few months ago. It was after the bombing, after Caroline and Jill and all that shit with Angelica.

Or maybe not quite after all that. The timeline gets a little hazy.

All he really knows is that one minute he was waking up in a hospital with Carlos watching over him and the next Carlos was dragging him to rehab, And the _next_ Carlos was starring in David's own personalized porno alongside his bombshell of an ex-wife.

And, now they're here in some little town in Southern California, sharing a hotel room (with two beds, but that doesn't mean they have to use both) and David has no idea at all how he's supposed to keep himself in check. Luckily, they have work to focus on and the ghost of Joanna as a sort of wall between them when David's self-control starts to lapse a little.

Except sometimes David wonders if that wall is really a bridge.

Or, maybe that's just hopeful. David really doesn't do hopeful very well. He's much better at bitter cynicism.

Which is why he isn't too surprised when their night of drinking almost results in Carlos getting deported and all vague hopes of getting to taste the beer off Carlos's tongue go flying out the window. (And _Jesus_ , if he'd ever seen Carlos fight before now, he's pretty sure this little infatuation would've started a hell of a lot sooner.) Once shit's been ironed out, they head back to the hotel. Both painfully sober.

So much for that plan.

Once upstairs, Carlos disappears into the bathroom while David undresses down to a loose pair of boxer shorts before slipping into bed. (It's more clothing than he's used to wearing to bed, but given the events of the day, David knows better than to press his luck.) His cell rests on the nightstand, glowing faintly in the dimmer light and he shifts on the mattress, trying to get comfortable as lets out a slow breath.

He can hear the water running in the bathroom and when he closes his eyes, he's met with a vivid picture of Carlos under the spray, washing off the smell of booze and cigarette smoke and dirt from the day. This is one of his more frequent fantasies, lately, but it's the first time he's had it with Carlos practically in the same room. He pictures Carlos's head gently bowed as the water streams down the expanse of tanned skin over hard muscle. David follows the trail, over the curve of Carlos's shoulder and down his chest, slightly hairy, growing darker the lower he goes, over the toned muscle of Carlos's abdom—

David's eyes snap open then. Jesus _fuck_ , when did his mind become a cheap romance novel?!

But, cheap romance novel or no, he doesn't have to look down to know that he's hard. Biting back a growl of frustration, he shifts against the mattress again, curling onto his side with his back to the door of the bathroom and tries to think of poor Martin with his microfossils and pollen grains and his obscenely bushy eyebrows and the twisted curve of his thin lips.

However, his cock seems to have other plans. As if just the proximity of Carlos's wet and naked body is more than enough to keep it interested.

And, okay, David can't really argue with that.

Mentally, he tries to calculate how long Carlos has been in the shower and how long that might mean he has to take care of business. Logically, he knows he should wait. Wait until Carlos is out and safely in bed and the bathroom is clear and _then_ he can take care of it.

But, the need is fucking _urgent_ and before David's done even any subtracting, he's shoving his hand down into his shorts. It's rough and fast because that's all he has time for and he's still curled on his side, his back to the door, images flashing through his mind: Carlos in the shower just on the other side of the wall; Carlos in the bar kicking the shit out of any guy within a five-foot radius; Carlos on his knees with his eyes closed and his mouth open; Carlos on top of him, _in_ him, taking out all his anger over Joanna out on him, pounding it into him, making him scream.

He comes quick and almost violently, pulling himself through it as he traps the mess in his shorts and just _how_ he's gonna cover that up, he's not too sure. He'll make up a lie or something. He's good at those. The only sound he makes is a quiet sigh when he's through, fingers sticky as he pulls his hand free and it's only then, as his heartbeat is slowing and the room is coming into focus that he realizes that the shower's no longer running.

And that the room is a little bit brighter than it was before.

"David?"

He freezes. Completely. An act which, up until that moment, David had been pretty sure was reserved for cartoons and people in Mel Brooks movies.

"David."

Softer that time and David closes his eyes and lets out a breath of defeat, already conjuring up a million and one excuses and explanations and flat-out lies. The number one being Red-Blooded Male. Not a lie and no further excuse necessary.

But, when he rolls over and forces himself to look at the figure in the doorway, the figure who's still dripping wet and wearing only a towel, he finds himself – for possibly the first time in his life -- completely speechless.

"Sorry, was I interrupting?"

David just stares dumbly for a moment and then roughly clears his throat as he struggles to sit up. "No, I was just—"

"You don't need to lie to me, David," Carlos says, cutting him off. And there's a tone there that David's heard before, a tone saved for dinners at his place and rounds and rounds of poker. An interesting tone. Intriguing.

"I don't," David replies slowly. It's a statement and also a question.

Carlos quirks a smile and shakes his head and in an instant any ghost of Joanna is completely gone.

And, so is Carlos's towel.

 **end.**

**Author's Note:**

> For justbreathe80 and beta'd by bohemian__storm. Initially posted [here](http://pianoforeplay.livejournal.com/11199.html) on 8/11/2007.


End file.
